I'm Sorry, Mary Anne
by Caschjen
Summary: [Oneshot]You little rat..., Logan muttered huskily into my ear. Why do you make me do this to you, Mary Anne?


I cringed as I was shoved harshly into the beige wall of Logan's bedroom. On impact, I coughed visciously, falling weakly to my knees against the hard mahogany floor. Drops of blood slowly dripped from my mouth and I reached my hand up, wiping the deep red drops away from my skin with slow fingers. I kept my head down; I never have the nerve to look up to him. I did, once, but then after the bruises he gave me, I was not about to try to stand up for myself away.

I felt strong hands grab my shoulders and yank me up, pinning me against the wall. I felt warm breath by my ear as Logan leaned in, nibbling on my earlobe gently.

"You little rat...," Logan muttered huskily into my ear. "Why do you make me do this to you, Mary Anne?"

He retreated from my ear and looked at my face, and into my eyes. My deep, warm, and sparkling brown eyes. That's what they used to be. It's what everyone told me they were. But now...they're only cold, empty shells of what they used to be.

"I...I'm sorry...Logan," I mutter weakly, sqeezing my eyes shut to try to stop the river of tears threatening to fall.

He laughed. A cold, bitter laugh. "You're always sorry, Mary Anne," He raised his fist and brought it down onto my cheek, my head flying to the right upon impact. I whimpered as I felt more blood ooze past my lips. The warm, maroon liquid that kept me alive felt so wrong being on my skin. It fell to the floor with tiny, nearly inaudible "plinks", staining the floors.

"Sorry isn't enough this time, pretty girl," It's been a long time since I've heard him call me that. I'd nearly forgotten it. It was now, to me, a mere voice of the past, speaking to me in hopes of trying to bring back the memories once lost. And it worked. All the times when Logan smiled, all the times when Logan told me he loved me, all the times Logan held me close and made me feel so safe...

"L-logan...please, stop," I don't know why I even bother with begging him anymore. He never lets up. He's too heated up now to have the slightest chance of calming down.

I cry out as his hand makes contact with my cheek, but I am soon quieted by his hand -- his warm, tingling hand, against my mouth, willing me to be quiet so his parent's don't hear me and come up here. No one can know about this, Mary Anne, is what he says. It's a secret. He says he hurts me because of his temper. He claims he can't control himself and when he gets too mad, he goes wild. He can't think straight; he doesn't think things through before he acts. And this is where it's gotten me. He releases his anger on me...He abuses me. Because I am small, weak, cry-baby Mary Anne Spier. I don't even have the courage to stand up to him. I'm so pathetic.

"That doesn't work, Mary Anne," He purrs, using his thumb and index finger to grasp my chin tightly, forcing me to face him. "Open your eyes,"

In fear of being hit again, I open my eyes, the tears I'd been trying to hold back flow down my cheeks. He laughs again. He's amused by my pain. He enjoys seeing me in this state. He doesn't care, as long as he can get a few laughs out of it.

"You're so scared, aren't you, pretty girl?" He asks in his thick southern accent. "So scared...," I feel his arms encircle me protectively, then he lets me go, backing away until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed and give out, making him fall back onto the bed. His hands are in his hair, and his eyes are closed. He's muttering to hinself. About what, I don't know.

"Oh, Mary Anne," He groans, sitting up to face me. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to...you know how...I'm really sorry, Mary Anne, it won't happen again. I'm sorry, Mary Anne, please...Don't say anything to anyone; it won't happen again, I promise. Please...,"

This is how it always is. He gets angry, he calls me over to 'talk', then he starts abusing me physically until he's satisfied. Then, when he finally snaps out of his angry phase, he goes into a near panic attack. He constantly begs me not to tell anyone about what he's doing to me. He's always sorry. He never means to do it. I should understand that, the way he feels...But I don't.

I sigh and walk over to him, sitting down onto the dark blue comforter. Slowly, I wrap my arms around him and he in turn wraps his arms around me.

"It's okay, Logan. I know you didn't mean to. It won't happen again...It won't," And yet, despite his words, it always does.


End file.
